


Paper Beats Rock

by bonehandledknife (ladywinter)



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Furiosa's War Boy days, Gen, Rictus fails a lot, all you need are kill hits, it's almost unfair, the one where's actually easier going up against stocky tall guys because they tend to be slower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 14:11:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4224738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladywinter/pseuds/bonehandledknife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We learn from the comics that Rictus is afraid of Furiosa. I think we need more details than that.</p><p>—</p><p>Four seconds this time. She blamed the new arm.</p><p>Immortan Joe’s son was unconscious but they were close enough to the chop shop. She mentally washed herself of the situation.</p><p>Instead Furiosa turned towards her raiding party, who’d followed her out of the Mechanic’s, and tilted her head towards the mess halls. Turned to leave, and they walked with her, running, sometimes up the walls to spring further ahead, energy buzzing under their skin like <i>they</i> had fought as she had fought. Like she had fought, for <i>them</i>.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Huh.</i></p><p> </p><p>Furiosa glanced at her new hand and then back at them, and nodded. They grinned back, full of teeth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paper Beats Rock

The first time Rictus fought her ( _tried_  fighting her) she’d just been making a name for herself with the scouts. Furiosa had learned her way across every inch of her vehicle with the Repair boys and been given a trial promotion. She’d done well on the trip, they’ve just come back with a new bloodbag. She’d bolo’d them when they were running away. (She didn’t bother looking at their face.)

Rictus blocked her path from the garages.

“What’s this?” He jeered, “What’s this? Does she think she’s can do war?”

Furiosa tucked her chin down and the War Boys drifted back to the walls.

“Does she think she doesn’t belong in the breeding pens?” Rictus grinned, “I’ll move you there myself.”

He went at her fast, lifting a hand open palmed and as it swung at her face Furiosa darted both hands out and locked his wrist. Jerked it  _hard_  towards her core and pivoted with a sharp twist and brought down Rictus onto his back with a thump. Followed him with a knee to the tender of his sternum and, with her full weight behind it,  _slammed_  her elbow against his nose.

The room was silent but for her breathing, as she got up and put some distance between them. Blood ran in dribbles down her arm.

It took less than three seconds.

Her driver came at her with wide eyes and she spun on him, heart pounding, hand going towards her hip but he just made calming motions with open palms and tried to ferry her out the door. The rest of her convoy followed.

It was only as they were ten rooms beyond the garages that the whispers started.

“That was so  _chrome_.”

Furiosa’s shoulders relaxed and she folded her knife back into her hip pouch.

—

The second time Rictus caught her as she was finally set free of the Organic Mechanic. Her stump still throbbed but it was bearable and her raiding party had worked together to present her with an arm.

 _It’s machine,_ they’d said, faces proud,  _it’ll not die on you._

What they’d seen was her singlehandedly taking down the Rough Riders who’d outmaneuvered them in a canyon. What they’d seen was her disappearing over a canyon while grappling with their leader and emerging with a hand missing but the raiders scattered. They’d lost a bike out of the trip but otherwise all War Boys came back. They believed the leader dead.

What they didn’t know was that Furiosa lost her hand to the Rough Riders but bargained her worth to them. The bike was promised as a faith payment and in the future an entire fuel pod that’ll be handed over, for safe passage.

The hand she told them to keep, to seal the bargain.

Furiosa’s new hand was workable, if heavy. It sits on her shoulder still a little separate from herself much like a new ride. She looked at it, as she worked the hydraulics, and thought she could make some improvements. Make it her own.

So when Rictus came up to her, it was a surprise.

“Little girl needs nails to hold herself together now?” Rictus boomed.

The War Boys next to her gave her a Look, eyes and mouths slanted. _Little_? She was a full ten hands, and towered over most of the Citadel.

Rictus, however, towers over _everyone_. “Little girl is a bag of nails. Think I should empty her out.”

Her metal hand curled, and her Boys backed away.

“Think I should fill her with something else.”

Rictus didn’t bend down toward her this time but it didn’t matter, his weight was too forward. Furiosa closed the distance between them with a burst of speed and slammed her shin at the side of his knee. His leg crumpled, bringing his groin down enough that she shoved her knee into any tender bits he had. Rictus caved even further at that, bringing his chin into range.

She elbowed upward and Rictus’ jaw’ clacked close like a gunshot, like bones breaking, and she slammed her new hand into his cheekbone to finish it.

His skin sliced easily under the metal and his cheekbones snapped like they couldn’t have had her hand been flesh.

Four seconds this time. She blamed the new arm.

Immortan Joe’s son was unconscious but they were close enough to the chop shop. She mentally washed herself of the situation.

Instead Furiosa turned towards her raiding party, who’d followed her out of the Mechanic’s, and tilted her head towards the mess halls. Turned to leave, and they walked with her, running, sometimes up the walls to spring further ahead, energy buzzing under their skin like  _they_  had fought as she had fought. Like she had fought, for  _them_.

_Huh._

Furiosa glanced at her new hand and then back at them, and nodded. They grinned back, full of teeth.

—

The third and last time Rictus approached her they were not alone.

By which she means that they were finally in front of the only people considered people.

Immortan Joe and his sons and his Imperators were seated before them in a room high up in the Citadel, and standing at her side were those also seeking to become Imperator. A milk run had failed, and there was an opening in the ranks. Assembled before Immortan Joe were the leaders of the top five most successful raiding parties as defined by resources captured and vehicles preserved.

They were told how the run failed from the crooked-mouthed War Boy who'd managed to limp the War Rig back to the Citadel. The raid leaders were asked what they would do differently.

Quick answers came from her peers: using more outriders, increasing their training, stationing more lancers, using more bullets, storing more explosives, and more fuel for flamers—

Furiosa kept her shoulders loose and lifted her chin, and cut through the clamor. “Add a crane,” she says, voice ringing clear, “and decrease the outriders to two or three War Boys a vehicle.”  

All heads turn to her. She holds steady.

“ _Decrease_?”

Furiosa looked at Immortan Joe, meeting his nose instead of his eyes, “Put the faster War Boys on the outriders, those with quick aim and good footspeed. If one side of the Rig needs more support, use the crane to redistribute them.”

“ ‘Redistribute’?” The Corpus echoed, eyes going small.

Furiosa flicked a glance at him, “Speed wins, in a fight. If you can maneuver—”

“ _Strength_  wins,” one of the other leaders interrupted. “Why, look at Rictus here, strong as this Citadel.”

“Would you say that no one can beat him?” Furiosa asked mildly. She slid her eyes over to Rictus, whose shoulders are tense. There’s plastic webbing over his jaw now, and his cheekbone healed the slightest crooked. Immortan’s looking at his son carefully.

Rictus’s glare was pitiable, and Furiosa felt no need to bring up past history. 

“Would you say,” Immortan Joe finally said, “That anyone who could beat my son is worthy of becoming my Imperator?”

“I would,” Furiosa agreed, and when she looked over at her fellow candidates, they all shook their heads slow. When Rictus took a step forward, face dark and enraged and vengeance leavened, they took a step back.

All but Furiosa.

“Prove yourself to me then, Candidate.”

She studied Rictus. This time his feet were set and his spine straight and his hands were loose and low.

Furiosa felt her mouth tighten but didn’t let herself smile when she snapped a kick at his waist and he caught her leg, and Rictus looked momentarily triumphant.

She just used his hold on her leg to rear up, leveraged herself above him with a fist on his strap. Hauled her improved arm back and punched all that metal into his face, accelerated by the  _snap_  from her shoulders and hips.

Rictus toppled. Furiosa rode him down.

It took a little less than two seconds.

She made sure Rictus was out, and then stood up. Shoulders down. Chin up. Core tight.

Rooms always sound so much bigger when there’s silence.

“What is your name,” Immortan Joe finally said.

She shifted her gaze slowly from his nose to his eyes, but there was no recognition. It burned as much as it was a relief. She’d refused to give him her name during her time in his Vault, but the situation has changed and if she is to carry out her plans Furiosa wanted him to know who’d stabbed him in the back.

“My name is Furiosa,” she said, like a gift to herself.

Immortan Joe stood.

“My Imperator Furiosa!” Immortan Joe announced, sweeping a hand at her as if practicing the words.

Rictus finally groaned awake. “Bag of nails,” he muttered, looking at her.

She sent him a quelling look,  _'You’ve lost other times. Should I talk about it? Show them some more?’_

Rictus stared.

And quickly crabwalked away from her.

From that time onwards Rictus spent as much time as he could in the places where she was not. Furiosa found that satisfactory.

**Author's Note:**

> I can be found giving snippets and previews [on tumblr](http://bonehandledknife.tumblr.com/).


End file.
